Room 134
by kenzienine
Summary: Everyone does a little thinking during math class, right? Clyde, Kyle, KENNY
1. Clyde Donovan

**A/N: Huh, okay so basically, I have a lot of time on my hands lately, and I had this idea to pick one day, one hour of one day, to write from everyone's point of view. Different perspectives and such. I started with Clyde, because to be honest there needs to be more Clyde on here. Clyde is underrated entirely. Anyway, this doesn't really have any plot for now, but I'm hoping that one sprouts and grows as I write from the perspective of different people. So yeah, I guess that's it! Read and Review (and criticize PLEASE AND THANKS)**

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><p>Clyde should have been to school 10 minutes ago. He would have been on time today, really he would have, but he had to spend almost 20 minutes finding his left shoe. That, and there was no way he was missing breakfast on Pancake Wednesday. Now, as he's spilling through the doors of South Park High School and skidding around the corner to room 134, Clyde promises himself that he'll make it in here <em>early<em> tomorrow. He would promise the rest of the week too, but if there's one thing Clyde knows, it's his own limits. Opening the door to room 134, he shoves his late pass on his math teacher's desk and finally slumps into his usual chair. Clyde knows that everyone is staring at him, and he knows what they're all thinking. _Why does he even bother showing up?_

That's the thing. Clyde knows why he bothers to show up. Clyde shows up just so he can see her. Clyde shows up just so he can try counting the millions of golden ringlets that drown her shoulders. He tries even though it's impossible. Clyde shows up just so he can watch her long, bony fingers tap the side of her thigh impatiently when there's five minutes left of class. _Tap tap tap. _Clyde shows up just so he can smell her perfume. He doesn't know what she uses, he only knows that it smells like strawberries and cream. He's memorized what she looks like from behind. He can trace the curve of her shoulder blades, and the arch of her spine, and even the twist in the backs of her knees when she sits with her legs crossed. That's why.

And you know what? Clyde isn't dumb. He's slow, but that doesn't mean that he's stupid. Clyde knows it, but why can't everyone else realize it too? It just takes him a little longer. Craig always tells him to stop caring about what the others think. Craig always tells him that he's fine just the way he is, and Craig wouldn't be his friend if he wasn't smart. Besides, once Clyde gets it, he gets it forever. Doesn't that count for something? Like when everyone learned about the platypus in second grade. Clyde still remembers that male platypuses can shoot venom from their ankles. Which is way cooler than the trig identities he doesn't understand. Maybe someday, he'll know what to do with them. Clyde even remembers that you call it platypuses and not platypi, like everyone thinks. Craig is good at math.

She is good at math too. Not as good as Craig, but close. Close enough, Clyde figures, to think that he's a waste of brains. He isn't, but she doesn't know that. Clyde wishes that he had could show her what he's good at, but she'll never give him that chance again. He remembers when they dated in fourth grade, and it makes him feel so old just thinking back that far. He thinks about how they still talk sometimes, at parties or when they bump into each other at the dentist. Sometimes, he wishes that she never even talked to him, but then other times, he feels like she could talk and talk and talk, and he'd drop everything just to catch her words. Clyde wants to catch them, and weed out the lies he knows that she tells to protect herself. Clyde thinks he could help her to say what she means all the time if she would let him. That's why Clyde memorized the back of her; it tells him what's real. He sees the slumped shoulders, and knows it's something she can't hide with a smile. He sees the nervous swinging of her leg when she's put on the spot. He sees the hand reach back and rub her neck when she's really fucking stressed out. Because that's what Clyde's good at. He just sees.

He sees the teacher call Craig to the whiteboard. He looks over at Craig's desk, he sees the blank notebook page, he sees Craig pick his face off the desk and study the problem at the front of the room. He sees the quick flare of calculation in his friend's eyes, even though it only flashes by for a second before Craig has solved the problem in his head. Clyde sees him take long, slow strides to the board and scribble down the work. He sees the answer to the equation, but he doesn't understand it. Craig gets back to his seat and lets his head hit the desk the second he sits down. Clyde decides to write down the solution in his notebook, and maybe he can figure it out later. He knows his mom will help him solve it when he gets home today. She'll help him even if it takes all night. He knows it won't, but he's feeling shitty, and that's when he starts to exaggerate the things he isn't good at. Clyde knows their teacher never calls on him anymore to save both of them the embarrassment, but it doesn't stop it from hurting.

Sometimes, she wears her hair in a pony tail. Clyde loves that. He doesn't know why, but he does. He thinks her neck is the prettiest thing about her, prettier than her eyes even. And those are perfect too. He also knows that she only started putting it up recently. When they were kids, her hair was wild wild wild, and she didn't care. Clyde always loved her hair. He loves how, even when she ties it up, she's hair is still wild wild wild. He knows now, that every morning, she tries to tame it. That every morning, she kind of fails. He knows that bothers her from the way she's always trying to smooth it down and get the tangles out. He half-wishes she would just let it go like when she didn't care, but not if it meant she would stop playing with it.

Suddenly, something hits Clyde's arm. It's a paper airplane, neatly folded, and it's maker even put a paper clip on the nose to help it fly. Clyde knows that it's from Token, because he recognises the handwriting. All caps. So incredibly straightforward. Kind of like Token the person. Clyde realizes that Token's probably written something on the inside, and that he should open it. As he begins to unfold the paper, Clyde realizes that this is why people think he's so stupid. Can't they see that he's just slow, which, Clyde decides, is the exact _opposite_ of stupid. He gets it open, reads the message written on the paper, and picks up his pencil to respond. He uses the creases to fold it back into the shape Token had it in, and he puts the paper clip back on the nose. Clyde passes the airplane to Jimmy, who passes it to Stan, who passes it to Kyle, who passes it to Lola, who passes it to Token. Clyde would have flown it over to him, but he's learned from past experiences that it won't work when he's the one throwing. He sees Token read his words, and flash his brilliant smile at him. Token is good at math.

Sometimes, Clyde wishes that she would turn around, just for a second. He doesn't know what he would do if she did, but he desperately wants her to see him. See him like he sees her. He looks down at his notebook, the answer to that one problem circled, _right there in front of him_, but the path confusing. He looks over at Craig, and thinks about getting his attention, thinks about asking him for help. But his friend is still face down. Not sleeping, Clyde knows, just ignoring. He starts to feel _really fucking shitty._

She turns around.

She runs her hands through that wild hair.

She says "Hey Clyde, do you get any of this shit?"

Wild wild wild.

Clyde just looks at her. He doesn't know what to do. Somehow, he manages to shrug his shoulders and give her a sheepish grin. The smell of strawberries and cream washes over him.

"No."

"Oh God, me either."

"Hey Bebe, did you know that male platypuses can shoot venom out of their ankles?"

"Didn't we learn about that in second grade?"


	2. Kyle Broflovski

**I almost gave you guys Bebe's side, but then I decided you're gonna have to wait :p. Reviews... please me :).**

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><p>Kyle's doodling awful stick figures in the margins of his notebook again. This one has a lumpy head. That one's right leg is like, two times as long as the left. He doesn't know what's gotten into him lately. He realizes that he can't draw for his life, and it's not even like he's drawing the stupid things for a purpose. He doesn't bother giving them little unique features to differentiate them, it's just a mess of completely standard stick people. Kyle thinks that anyone looking over his shoulder right now probably thinks he's batshit crazy. Really though, maybe he's just bored. This class is boring. Really? Do they have to teach everyone that cosine squared plus sine squared is equal to one? Just look at the unit circle and it's so obvious. Kyle wonders if he should write it down anyway to get away from the stick people. He used to love math. He used to live for it, and dream of becoming a famous mathematician. Lately, though, he hates it, and that scares him. He isn't good at anything else.<p>

On a whim, Kyle presses his pencil down hard at the head of one of his stick figures, and the lead piles off-kilter curly cues into something kind of resembling his own hair. After analyzing the self portrait, he tugs his grass green hat down from his head, and the jumbled mess of florid curls spills out. Kyle doesn't really know why or even question it anymore, but sometimes he just likes to hold his ushanka hat in his hands. Maybe it's because the stupid thing has been with him for so long, longer than Stan, even. He cranes his neck until his eyes find the blue and red hat that is unmistakeably Stanley Marsh. Stan looks just as bored as Kyle, maybe even a little more than that, and he gives Kyle a weak smile and a small salute before going back to his habit of watching the clock tick away the time. Kyle wonders what any of them are doing here anyway. He realizes he could just walk out if he wanted to. Instead, he gives another stick figure a poof-ball hat.

Suddenly, Kyle hears something crashing down the hallway towards room 134. He sighs, who's the idiot? Sure enough, Clyde Donovan lurches through the doorway, a thoroughly embarrassed expression etched into his face. Kyle doesn't see any reason for him to act this way. Clyde Dinovan arrives 10 minutes late to class every damn day. Clyde Donovan skids into the room and take his place two seats over every damn day. Clyde Donovan resumes his staring match with the Bebe Stevens' head. Just like he does every damn day. Actually, no one in this fucking room does anything different anymore. Kyle realises that he can't even remember what happened to him yesterday, because it mattered that little. He remembers a time when every day in South Park was a new God damned adventure. He remembers when Kenny McCormick even died that one time in the hospital, and he remembers when he randomly came back to life again. Kyle steals a sideways glance at his old friend, and remembers that one time he lodged a ninja star into Butters Stotch's left eye and they turned him into a dog, and the time when Kenny went to Jewbilee with him, and they gave soap statues to Moses. Kyle wonders why things can't be more like they used to, when there was never a dull moment, _ever_, and all he had to do was be a kid. Kyle realizes that he misses just being a kid. He realizes that this is why he hates math so much. Math is all rules and numbers. Sure, they pan out,but where's the adventure? Math, with all its rules and numbers, is boring. He gives another stick figure what Kenny likes to call "bed head" and a hooded parka that looks a lot more like a disproportionate rectangle with flaps than a piece of clothing.

Suddenly, the teacher is calling out for a volunteer. Usually, Kyle would raise his hand after a moment. It's what everyone is expecting him to do right now. Today though, he just doesn't. Today, Kyle Broflovski, number-motherfucking-extraordinaire, doesn't even lift his arm up to reach a scratch. Their teacher has no choice but to call on someone else. His eyes search the room, ignoring the kids that seem to be focused intently on his lesson. That's a mistake, Kyle decides. He should help the kids who want to learn, not hinder them and focus on the ones who couldn't give two fucks. Oh, figures he'd pick on Craig Tucker. Craig won't give two fucks for the sheer reason that he doesn't even have _one._ The guy just doesn't care. Kyle watches him take years walking up to the board, and scribble down the problem in his cat scratch handwriting. Quickly solving the problem on his own, Kyle thinks he got the same answer, but he can't tell if what Craig wrote is a 4 or a 9 under the square root symbol. He slides back into his seat and goes back to sleep. Bored bored bored. Bored as hell. Bored as fuck. And the clock is ticking away the time.

Then, Kyle has an idea. He realises that he can change the routine, change it for everyone. Frantically, like he might lose the thread weaving the plan, he rips out the note-less piece of paper, and scribbles down a message addressed to Stan. Folding the paper 3 times, Kyle gives the note to his best friend with an excited smirk, and waits for him to become just as inspired as he is. They need this, and Kyle realizes that it's about time.


	3. Kenny McCormick

**Hmm so I kind of think I know where I want to go with this whole thing... Here's some Kenny McCormick for you guys! I know it's a little strange and different but I am too I guess HAH. Okay then, onward!**

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><p>Kenny needs to get out. Out of math class, out of this school, out of his friends' way. Out of his house, out of his town, out of his own head. Out of all of the things that Kenny needs, <em>this one<em> need, escape, has pushed itself unmercifully to the forefront of his brain, and it's banging on the walls of his forehead with all the power it can muster. It's making his head spin, giving him a headache.

"Hey, Red, can I use your Ipod?" Red looks at him and frowns, but nods anyway and hands it over. Swiftly and silently, Kenny whips her headphones through his orange parka, up inside of his hood, and into his ears. He wonders if Red knows that he doesn't ask for her Ipod just because they sit next to each other, but because he thinks she has the best music. Red has one of those classic types of Ipods, the ones that hold a shitfuck-ton of music, and it's filled. She's got everything from Rihanna to Cage the Elephant to Tupac the Beach Boys, and not just one no, Red's Ipod is like the fucking Harvard Library of music selection, she's got quantity _and_ quality. Under his desk, Kenny moves his finger in tiny circles until he finds what he needs. Soon Childish Gambino is filling up his ears and seeping into his brain. He turns it way way up, because if Kenny needs to escape, he can do it with music. He sinks his head onto his desk, and shuts out everything and everyone. Kenny makes his world small. He makes it his, and he feels a little better.

_There's a world we can visit if we go outside_

_We can follow the road_

_There's a world we can visit if we go outside_

_No one knows_

Kenny thinks about what he would leave behind if he just... left. Would he end up somewhere that people actually needed him? Because right now it's the other way around, and Kenny _hates_ it. He has a job, a dead-end one, but whatever, he has it. Still, he doesn't have a way to get the things he needs. Because he needs too much. He needs more than food and a place to sleep. Kenny needs people. He needs to feel like he's worth _something_ to _someone_, but not just _anyone._ Kenny needs love. He needs understanding and happiness. And above all, Kenny needs normalcy. How is he supposed to ever get what he needs, when his life is the way it is. And the truth is, he's scared.

He's scared because he doesn't know when he's allowed to die, if he ever is. What will happen to his immortality if his mother dies? What happens if he has to live forever? Both options terrify him. Kenny knows his parents don't care whether they live or die, that they're gonna keep cooking and ruining their livers and living in the midst of disease and decay. What he isn't sure of is what will happen to him when they die young. With his shitty luck, Kenny gives himself maybe an hour or two to live if the curse is lifted when his mother dies. It's either that, or it's eternity, and he hates both ends of the coin he never wanted to flip. Does he want too much life or too little? Kenny needs an in between, which is something he'll never get. That's why he's so fucking dangerous.

His blonde head swivels on his neck, surveying the damage he knows he's done to the people sitting bored all around him. Kyle, whom he's woken up at 4 in the morning countless times, begging for a ride home with slurred words. Stan, who watches his little sister when he has to make up the difference in the rent check doing something seriously shameless. Bebe, the beautiful girl he's called so many times when he's lonely, and when she comes, he doesn't give a shit about what she needs. Red, who worries about him constantly, but he can't be bothered to open up to her just once. Kenny isn't proud of any of it, and he didn't really know what else to do until he decided to do nothing against, and ask nothing of anyone again. He's hurt so many people trying to find happiness, but hurting people isn't what Kenny ever needed, and he knows that now.

He doesn't even look up when Clyde rushes clumsily inside the room, but he knows that everyone else probably does. Clyde's always late, but Kenny doesn't see the need to scoff at him behind his back. He thinks that people should just mind their own business, because Clyde has a right to be here just as much as any of them. He thinks it's himself that they should scoff at, because in all truthfulness, he doesn't even know why he's here. He thinks that Clyde is just on a different wavelength than most people, a slower one maybe. Kenny's on a different one too, but his is moving at breakneck speed instead. He wishes his life was more like Clyde's, unhurried and comfortable. He wishes he could feel Clyde's kind of scared embarrassed, instead of his kind of scared for your life. Kenny turns his music up even louder than before and decides that all the thinking he's doing right now needs to fucking stop. He turns it up so high that he misses Craig Tucker solving a math equation in his head and writing the answer on the board, and the next thing he knows is that there's crumpled sheet of notebook paper in front of him with Kyle's and Stan's handwriting on it. When he reads the message, the smile seeps into his entire face.

_Stan I've got something big planned for everyone tonight can you meet me after school?  
>Sure dude.<em>

_Great. Oh and can you pass this to Kenny and tell him that I REALLY need him for this?_


End file.
